Triumph of the Early Bird
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: Fred Gallup returns to River City to cover the Easter Parade. Although Harold Hill is now happily married, the reporter is even more cynical and predatory than he was before, making him a far more dangerous adversary for the music professor and librarian to contend with...


_A/N – This fic features one of my OCs, Fred Gallup, reporter for the Des Moines Register and Leader. This will be a two-chapter fic – the first chapter has plenty of Harold and Marian in it, but the second chapter takes place entirely outside of River City. If OCs are not your cup of tea, turn back now! If you're still interested, I'd recommend reading "Everyone Loves a Parade" first, if you haven't already – that is the fic in which Fred first made his appearance._

_Also, I couldn't resist incorporating the lyrics for "Easter Parade" into this fic, so this chapter makes anachronistic reference to Irving Berlin's 1933 song. Since canon has also dabbled in anachronism (most notably, Harold's reference in "Trouble" to "Captain Billy's Whiz Bang," which wasn't actually published until 1919), I figure I am merely following established precedent!_

XXX

Easter was fast approaching, and for the first time in years or perhaps even decades, River City wasn't just looking forward to the holiday for its own sake. As Professor Harold Hill proudly informed Mayor Shinn following the boys' band's stirring demonstration the previous August, he would be pleased as punch to lead another parade on Easter Sunday. And knowing that the _Des Moines Register and Leader_ would once again send Fred Gallup to cover the festivities – that is, if the big-city paper deemed it worthwhile to run a story on a second River City parade – the music professor had spent the last six months diligently and patiently drilling his boys in preparation for another stunning spectacle. This time around, Harold was determined that the sly-eyed, mealy-mouthed reporter would see his boys marching in a flawless glide step as they promenaded down Main Street!

Although the extra rehearsals certainly paid off and the boys now had proper marching formation down pat, the music professor did not rest easy on March twenty-second – the eve of the big event. Instead, he found himself in just as much of a restless flurry of activity as he'd been the night before the band's August debut. There were so many crucial little details to keep in mind, and Harold was determined not to overlook a single one. While he dutifully locked up the emporium at five o'clock and came home for dinner at his wife's behest, he bolted down his food and retired to the music room, spending the next several hours rifling through scores, banners, instruments and other bric-a-brac as he once again reviewed everything that needed to happen for the parade to go off without a hitch.

It wasn't often that Harold wished to delay the fruition of a carefully planned scheme, but when Marian brought him a cup of tea – and with it, a warm kiss on his flushed cheek – the music professor found himself confessing to his wife that he wished Easter Sunday wasn't slated to fall so gosh darn early this year.

Although the strait-laced librarian raised an eyebrow at this mild but unusual oath on his part – he'd caught himself just in time, too, as "gosh darn" weren't precisely the words he'd been thinking – she gave him another reassuring kiss and went straight to the heart of what was nagging him. "Mr. Gallup can't possibly pose as much of a threat as he did before. No matter what he thinks of tomorrow's performance, your band is already well-established and a proven success."

For a moment, Harold simply looked at his wife. Marian was regarding at him with that beaming smile, the one that indicated she believed not just every grandiose word he ever said, but that he would make good on his avowals. Lots of people had looked at him that way before, men and women, but it only ever struck a chord in his heart when _she_ did it. The librarian had always been a gorgeous woman, but there was something particularly captivating about her when she wore that affectionate and trusting expression. Not only did that sweet look of hers make him want to keep his pie-in-the-sky promises, it made him believe he actually could.

Of course, the music professor wasn't the only fellow who'd been swayed by the lovely librarian. Nor was he the only fellow charming and persistent enough to try to win her over despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles both she and circumstance presented.

Frowning at the reminder of Mr. Gallup's unabashed flirtations – he had purposely neglected to inform the reporter of their marriage, lest the man find an excuse not to show up and thereby ruin the emporium's chances for additional publicity – Harold turned his gaze back to the score he was holding. "Mr. Gallup _is_ coming. I got a telegram from the man on Friday afternoon," he confirmed in a voice that was level but still rather dark for him. To lighten the mood, the music professor forced a laugh, and was gratified to hear that his chuckle contained far more ease than he felt. "He might not pose as much of a threat to our operations, but only a fool would relax around a reporter."

Removing the sheaf of papers from Harold's hands and placing them on a nearby end table, Marian sat down on her husband's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I wasn't finished, darling," she softly remonstrated. "I also wanted to remind you that any designs Mr. Gallup may still have on a certain librarian will be rendered futile once and for all, when he sees that both her heart _and_ hand are definitively spoken for."

As she brought her hand forward to caress Harold's cheek, he caught sight of her wedding band glinting in the light. When he turned his head to kiss the golden ring and then the pretty fingers of that slim, spoken-for hand, Marian nestled closer and, with a pleased sigh, buried her head in the crook of his shoulder.

Normally, this tacit invitation would have been the music professor's cue to begin a delicious round of lovemaking that would happily fill the rest of the evening. However, when Harold moved his mouth to gently nip at his wife's exposed neck, he caught sight of his jaunty, plumed bandleader's cap resting on the piano bench, and his lips stilled as he suddenly remembered something vitally important he had forgotten to confirm earlier. "Marian, was your mother able to get the silver polish stain out of the sleeve of my jacket? And were you able to pick up the jacket from her this afternoon?"

Marian laughed and nestled even closer to him. "Yes, Harold. Your jacket is laundered, pressed, and hanging in your armoire in the bedroom. I told you this during dinner, remember?"

"Ah, so you did," he concurred, though he honestly couldn't recall. He began to kiss her neck again, but then another thought occurred to him. "Are my silver trumpet cufflinks ready for tomorrow, as well? You said they needed to be polished first… "

Letting out a good-natured sigh, Marian lifted her head to look at him. "_Yes_, Harold. I told you that, too. Were you even listening to a word I said while we ate, or was your head completely in the clouds?"

Harold grinned sheepishly. "I suppose it was. Did I miss anything else you had to tell me?"

"You were in and out of the kitchen so fast I didn't have time to say much more than that," Marian reproachfully teased him.

Now that matters were completely settled, the music professor was eager to resume their prelude from where he had left off, but before he could so much as bend toward his wife's delectable throat, she unwound her arms from his neck and rose from his lap.

"While _you_ may be planning to stay awake all night worrying about band business, _I'm_ planning to retire shortly," she said with a yawn. "But first, a bedtime snack is in order."

Now it was Harold's turn to tease – if nothing else, he had noticed his wife's newfound prodigious appetite. "For someone who's gotten so picky about what kinds of foods she finds appealing, you've certainly seemed a lot hungrier, lately!"

Her demeanor unruffled, Marian shrugged and said, "We've been busier than ever with the boys' band and at the library these past few months, so I suppose my body requires the extra nourishment."

Although a glance at the cuckoo clock on the wall revealed it was only seven fifteen, Harold was content to leave it unsaid that in recent weeks, she'd also taken to going to bed quite early. He certainly had his suspicions as to the reason for these marked changes in his wife's habits, but as this was unfamiliar territory for him, he decided it was best to play oblivious for the time being, and wait for her to come to him with any potential news that might be looming on the horizon. After all, the librarian was a clever woman and would surely put two and two together soon enough, if indeed that was the case! In the meantime, Harold wasn't about to let another opportunity for lovemaking slip through his fingers if he could help it, even though he'd botched a promising prelude only moments before…

Standing up himself, the music professor wrapped his arms around his wife and gave her his best rueful puppy-dog eyes. "Actually, I did have nicer plans than ruminating over concert details tonight. So I hope you aren't planning to go to sleep _too_ soon after your repast." Palming her backside, he pulled her even closer against him and said in his low, velvety voice, "Because what I had in mind will keep us both awake for the next few hours, at least, _Missus_ Hill… "

Unsurprisingly, Marian rolled her eyes and laughingly scolded, "Be that as it may, _Mister_ Hill, we shouldn't stay up too late. After all, River City's renowned bandleader needs his rest, as well!" But she melted into his embrace and pressed her hips into his, all the same.

At the librarian's unspoken but bold encouragement, Harold tightened his arms around her both fervently and possessively. "I know without a doubt that you're fully mine, Marian," he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. "But I'd like to go into tomorrow with a solid reminder of that. When that sneaky reporter pulls his sly tricks in order to get under my skin, I'd like to recall my wife's loving caresses to bolster my spirits."

Clearly, Marian thought he was using a slick line on her, because she pulled away a little and regarded him with a skeptical smile. But when their eyes met and she saw the seriousness in his gaze, her levity faded. Swallowing nervously even as he continued to look intently at his wife, Harold told her, "I'm just as uneasy about Mr. Gallup's presence at the Easter parade as I was about his antics last August… and that's the God's honest truth, Marian."

Marian, who was not only a lady from the ground up but the best wife a man could ask for, did not laugh or dismiss his apprehensions. Nor did she regard him with pity or contempt. Instead, she tenderly cupped his cheek and gave him the sweet, ardent look that always made him weak in the knees. "Harold… although Mr. Gallup will be hard-pressed to do any damage on this trip, I _did_ think it best to hide the _Indiana State Educational Journal_ again, just in case." Closing the distance between them, she kissed him with affection, warmth and invitation.

When their lips parted, Marian continued to bathe his cheeks with soft kisses, and Harold's eyes remained closed as he reveled in her ministrations. "Oh, Marian," he moaned. "I love you. I love you more than anything. More than that, I _need_ you. I can't tell you how lost I'd be without you… " The words tumbled out hurriedly and gracelessly, reminiscent of that August night on the footbridge when he'd confessed in painstaking detail the true depth of his feelings for her. Normally, the music professor would have cringed at how effusive he was being – he'd only meant to praise her for her smart thinking – but after everything they'd been through together, he knew she'd understand him perfectly.

Marian kissed him again, harder this time. "We're a united front now, no matter what Mr. Gallup tries to pull tomorrow," she affirmed. Her eyes found his again, and her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "Let's go to bed, Harold."

"What about your snack?" Harold asked – though he did indeed long to bring her to their bed right that minute. However, he wasn't about to allow his possibly expecting wife to go hungry in the process of sating _his_ appetites.

Marian gently extricated herself from his embrace and gave him her sly, sideways smile. "I can always eat later."

Taking the librarian's hand, Harold pulled her upstairs.

XXX

Fred Gallup sighed wearily and ran his hand over his slicked-back hair as the train reached the outskirts of Des Moines and the endless cornfields began to flash by. He may have been born and bred in the tiny, unincorporated town of Charleston, Iowa, but he'd fled to the steel and concrete and busyness of Des Moines after he was forced by financial circumstance to drop out of college. Though the reporter spent a good deal of his time crisscrossing the state visiting one backwater or another in search of stories for the _Register and Leader_, he was a city man through and through. The vast, monotonous farmlands of Iowa both bored and unnerved him.

Being a man whose living depended on observing his surroundings, Fred nevertheless found himself mechanically noting the details of the sparse panorama before him: the sun had just peeked up over the horizon, making the dew glisten on the delicate green tendrils poking up from the loamy, manure-covered earth. Some men might have found the pastoral sight captivating, but Fred was not nearly so sentimental – he was a reporter, not a poet. As the sun rose higher in the sky, he fervently wished for a skyscraper or twenty to shield the steadily increasing glare, which was fast giving him a headache.

Scowling and turning away from the window when the brightness became too much for his tired eyes to tolerate, Fred instead turned his attention to his fellow passengers. Since it was an early-morning train, he didn't have a whole lot of company. He was presently sharing the car with a few traveling salesmen, and he knew right off the bat that neither fellow would prove a promising conversational companion. One of the salesmen was snoring loudly beneath his boater and clutching the handles of his garishly-painted valise for dear life, and the other was ensconced behind a tattered, week-old edition of the _Burlington Hawk Eye_. Sneering at the rival rag, Fred faced forward and stared at the empty seat in front of him, wondering what capricious whim made him decide to accept Harold Hill's invitation in the first place.

There really was no reason for him to go back to River City. No decent reason, at any rate. While the reporter was mildly curious to see the progress the fledgling boys' band had made over the past six months, he was even more interested in ascertaining the well-being of a certain, lovely librarian who'd been lingering in the back of his mind since the previous August. Marian Paroo hadn't been an easy woman to forget, although he'd tried his damnedest. Whether that scoundrel Hill truly loved Miss Paroo or not, she'd wholly given her heart to the bombastic flim-flam man – Fred never had a chance with her, and he knew it. But perhaps now, half a year later, the infatuated-but-shrewd librarian might be tiring of Harold Hill's bluster and empty promises, and there could very well be a chink in her armor he could work his way through…

However, first and foremost, the reporter was careful to get his boss's blessing before setting off on this jaunt to River City. No sense in making the effort if he wasn't going to get paid for his troubles – seeing those bouncing blonde ringlets and sweet hazel eyes again was delightful to contemplate, but it wasn't worth putting the food on his table or the roof over his head in jeopardy! While his editor was intrigued by the idea of a follow up, he'd consented to the idea only on one condition. If Fred was aiming to write about the same boys' band in the same Podunk town in the middle of nowhere, he'd have to come up with a new angle for his story. A whiff of scandal perhaps – nothing like whipping up a fury of self-righteous titillation to sell extra copy! At that directive, the seasoned reporter had grinned and guaranteed he would deliver on that score. Not wanting to overplay his hand, he left it unsaid that given what little he'd previously managed to dig up about "Professor" Harold Hill's erstwhile exploits in Illinois, he didn't even need to go back to River City to write _that_ story.

When the train finally rolled into the freight depot, Fred meticulously brushed the creases out of his olive-green suit-coat and trousers, lightly smoothed his fingers over his tawny brown locks and pencil mustache to ensure they were slicked perfectly in place, carefully placed his straw boater on his head at a rakish angle… and then bolted outside, eager to get to work. As he paused briefly to take in his surroundings, he couldn't contain his sneer of amusement. Not a damn thing had changed since his last visit – everything was exactly the same, right down to the wizened old farmer in dusty overalls and threadbare straw hat hoeing his plot of cabbage!

The reporter tipped his hat as he passed. "Good morning, friend," he said in a warm and courteous voice. "Nice weather we're having today, wouldn't you say?"

The farmer frowned and pointedly squinted at the knots of puffy cumulous clouds dotting the faraway horizon. "Looks like a storm is brewing."

Exactly the same as last time, indeed! Repressing a laugh, Fred tipped his hat again and made his way toward Professor Harold Hill's Music Emporium. He even started to whistle merrily as he walked along – but promptly squelched that inclination the moment he realized the tune coming out of his mouth was the jaunty but overblown _Seventy Six Trombones_. Loud, boisterous entrances were Harold Hill's shtick; the reporter was planning to slip unseen through the doors of the emporium, in the hopes of catching the self-styled music professor and strait-laced librarian enmeshed in an interlude just as interesting and potentially scandalous as he'd spied them in the previous August.

However, the moment he entered the establishment, Harold Hill was there to greet him with a bright smile. As Fred likewise grinned in greeting, he ruefully reflected that he should have known better than to underestimate his rival – clearly, the man wasn't going to make the same mistake of getting caught anywhere near_ flagrante delicto_! As Professor Hill ushered him into the auditorium, the reporter assessed the showman's demeanor. Harold Hill had the same larger-than-life presence, expansive mannerisms, booming voice and impeccably coiffed wave, but there was something different about him, some subtle but definitive change that Fred couldn't quite put his finger on…

His thoughts scattered when he saw Marian Paroo, who was wearing a fetching pale-blue muslin gown trimmed with white lace. _And_ she was beaming at him. "Welcome back to River City, Mr. Gallup! We're so happy you could join us for the Easter festivities."

Fred eagerly took the hand she offered him and gave it the hearty kiss he would have much rather pressed against her alluring crimson lips. "I'm happy to be back, Miss Paroo," he said with genuine warmth as he continued to clasp her hand in his. "Looking forward to seeing what the Curies of the music world have in store for us all today!"

Marian's mouth twitched and she exchanged a brief look with Professor Hill, who, as ever, was hovering just over her shoulder. Fred expected the music professor to go berserk at his perhaps too-cordial overtures, but his grin merely broadened. "Oh – did I forget to mention?" he said with an easygoing air that the reporter knew was more affected than it seemed. "The librarian is much more than my assistant at the emporium, these days. Mr. Gallup, I'm pleased to introduce you to Marian Paroo Hill – my wife."

Fred had known this was coming as soon as Harold Hill opened his mouth, and was already crafting his cordial felicitations, but somehow, he still wasn't able to entirely contain his irritated chagrin. While he managed to keep his voice smooth and steady as he congratulated the couple on their nuptials, he knew his expression didn't quite match the delight of his tone. Fred was further irked when he found himself genuinely regretting his inability to conceal his disappointment, not out of embarrassment for his own feelings, but because he perversely felt he owed it to Professor Hill to try a little harder. How was it that even after being so thoroughly bested, part of him still couldn't help liking and downright rooting for this scoundrel?

However, now that he'd expressed the required sentiments of joy, Fred immediately cast about for an opportunity to change the subject. His eyes fell upon the tiny silver trumpets gleaming at the music professor's wrists. "Those are intriguing cufflinks, Professor Hill. Where did you get them? I might be interested in purchasing a pair for myself!"

The music professor's grin widened. "Why, thank you, Mr. Gallup! They were a present from Marian. She ordered them from a specialty jewelry shop in Davenport. The same place, as a matter of fact, where I ended up buying her engagement ring."

Fred's gaze immediately jerked to the diamond solitaire upon the librarian's slender hand. In the light, the bauble seemed to be winking insolently at him, mirroring the triumphant glow in the music professor's eyes. Repressing the urge to glare at both the ring and the smirking scoundrel who was quietly but unabashedly savoring his victory, Fred pulled a pad and pencil out of his pocket. Since he couldn't seem to succeed in moving the conversation away from the librarian's marital status, it was time to get down to business.

"So, Professor Hill, are there any new and exciting developments at the music emporium that you'd like to share with the _Register and Leader's_ readers?"

As ever, the music professor was more than happy to bloviate about his establishment, and happily did just that for a good fifteen minutes without pausing for breath. During this monologue, Fred smiled, nodded and pretended to take copious notes while sneaking glances at the librarian out of the corners of his eyes. Sadly, Miss Marian – he refused to call her anything connected to the name _Hill_ in the privacy of his own mind – did not look at him even once. She only had eyes for her husband and, despite her demure sideways glance and vaguely detached smile (she must have heard Professor Hill's spiel at least a hundred times before), she was as riveted to the showman as if he were the moon, the stars and the sky all rolled into one.

Since no one was presently looking at him, Fred allowed himself to scowl openly. He just could not understand what it was that Miss Marian saw in this flim-flam man's self-assured swagger. The well-traveled reporter didn't often come across women who were as gorgeous, intelligent and savvy as River City's librarian. Nor did he often meet women he wanted to get to know outside of the bedroom. And now that he had finally found a gal whose company he would have enjoyed between the sheets and whose cleverness in conversation he would have relished, he had absolutely no chance of winning her over, let alone properly pursuing her!

Perhaps this was Providence's way of paying him back for breaking Bess's heart, all those years ago. Dear, sweet Bess, the only woman he'd ever truly loved, despite – or perhaps because – he'd never taken a tumble in the hay with her. Bess was his childhood sweetheart, and Fred would never have been so crass as to engage in that kind of trysting with her, at least not until he'd placed a wedding ring on her finger. But somehow, he'd never mustered up the gumption to get that far. While Bess was just as elegant and eloquent as Miss Marian, she had a stubborn, small-town naiveté that rankled him, as much as he tried to overlook it. After they'd graduated from high school and he'd won his musical scholarship, she promised to wait for him while he completed his degree, but even before he'd stepped foot on the University of Iowa campus, Fred knew the two of them were going in different directions in life. Indeed, they'd separated a few times during his promising but ultimately doomed college career. During these estrangements, Fred drowned his sorrows in heated but short-lived affairs – he was handsome and charming enough that he had no shortage of women willing to warm his bed. But as much as Fred relished those brief respites from his impending life of domesticity, none of those other gals could hold a candle to Bess, so he'd always smoothed things over with her in the end.

When his scholarship ran out and he could no longer afford college on his own, Bess asked him point-blank to come home to her. Not wanting to spend his life as a paltry store clerk in the middle of nowhere, Fred took a journalism job in Des Moines, and then proceeded to make several determined efforts to convince his sweetheart to join him in the city. Unsurprisingly, Bess balked at leaving Charleston, though she had just as much trouble letting him go as he did saying that final goodbye to her. So they hung on for a few more tumultuous years, trying to salvage what they could of their slowly but steadily dwindling romance. However, when the dull but decent Henry Harper eventually expressed an interest in courting her, she broke things off with Fred for good. Last the reporter heard from his mother, Bess was plump, content, and happily raising a brood of four with her paltry store clerk – and she had a fifth kid on the way.

_Speaking of children…_

After Professor Hill finally reached the end of his spiel, he invited the reporter to partake of some refreshments. Indeed, about five minutes earlier, Miss Marian had quietly retreated to the far end of the auditorium to lay out a delectable spread of bread, cheese, fruit and jam. Having skipped breakfast that morning, Fred stopped sneaking glances at the librarian and instead gazed longingly at the food. However, he couldn't help noting that while her precious music professor continued to drone on, Miss Marian constantly nibbled from this platter, eating with refined but definite gusto. And when the two men eventually joined her in repast, Fred caught Professor Hill surreptitiously observing his rapacious wife with a knowing and giddy twinkle in his eyes. The music professor also avoided taking more than a morsel or two of food, confirming Fred's sneaking suspicions that this platter was concocted more for Miss Marian's consumption than as a gesture of hospitality to him. For even though the librarian's figure was still as sleek and trim as ever, it was highly possible she was eating for more than just her own nourishment.

Although this discovery irked Fred even further, he felt resentment rather than envy. As much as the reporter wished for feminine companionship, he did not relish the idea of having a passel of children – yet another reason he wasn't at all eager to settle down with Bess too quickly. Not that he disliked kids. On the contrary, Fred found children refreshingly perceptive and straightforward conversationalists, as they were not yet ingrained with the hypocrisy masquerading as civility that he encountered in the vast majority of adults he met. To his bemused delight, the children he knew also seemed to like him in return; he had three sisters back in Charleston who'd happily taken up the mantle of domesticity in his place, and the reporter's nieces and nephews relished their uncle's visits and peppered him for stories about his travels and the wider world whenever he was in town. So as far as Fred Gallup was concerned, kids were just fine and dandy… as long as they were someone else's.

Given that the cloth he and Harold Hill were cut out of was more similar than he cared to openly admit, Fred marveled at the music professor's barely concealed delight at his wife's probable condition. Although the music professor clearly had a wonderful rapport with River City's boys, he did not strike the reporter as a fellow who'd actually want to have children of his own. But then, Fred would never have predicted that Harold Hill was capable of relinquishing his bachelorhood so quickly; the reporter had expected him to put off the wedding for at least another year or two.

But it seemed the charming scoundrel had taken his advice and married the strait-laced librarian, after all. Not only that, he wasn't even bothering to hide how besotted he was with her. While he did not go so far as to embrace her or engage in any other inappropriate physical displays of affection, Professor Hill gazed at his wife like they were the only two people in the auditorium. And in return, Miss Marian continued to look at him like he was the only man in the world worth noticing. _That_ was what was so different from last August – the two of them were an impenetrable, united front. The former fly-by-night salesman was not only a legitimate music professor, he was also a devoted husband. And in all likelihood, he would soon be a father, as well.

But that didn't mean there was no scandal to be found in River City. Small towns were always full of unsavory secrets, and the reporter had always excelled at rooting out the unpleasant truths carefully concealed beneath the polished veneer of society. Stuffing his acrimony down his throat with the last of his bread and jam, Fred found a cheerful grin and began digging.

"Mrs. Hill, I understand that in addition to serving as second-in-command at the emporium, you're also still employed as River City's librarian. However do you manage to find the time for everything, while still maintaining such a radiant demeanor? You're the picture of health and bloom!"

His tone was both complimentary and admiring, designed to elicit an appreciative laugh from Miss Marian and a scowl from Professor Hill, who would likely take his remark as a sly insinuation that the emporium's finances were too shaky to fully support a wife – and the child she was presently carrying. However, to the reporter's disappointment, the music professor laughed just as merrily as the librarian.

"River City couldn't do without Marian as its librarian," Professor Hill fondly and cheerfully affirmed. He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. "She's indispensable, irreplaceable – and irrepressible!"

Fred's mood soured again when Miss Marian laughed even more warmly at her husband's flattery than his own. And she didn't even try to pull out of the music professor's grasp. "Oh, Harold!" she admonished indulgently, an enchanting blush suffusing her cheeks.

Though there were no signs whatsoever of indignation or alarm in either of their voices or expressions, Fred refused to take their relaxed banter at face value. There was something that seemed almost too well-coordinated about this mirthful display, and he couldn't shake the sense of a pair of actors both subtly and skillfully performing a masque for a jaded audience. The music professor and librarian were formidable when it came to stubborn concealment of their personal vulnerabilities; perhaps Miss Marian's continued employment was a matter of tension between them, but their prodigious sense of pride was leading them to put on a false and flawless act for his benefit.

Indeed, when the parade set off from the steps of River City High School at noon sharp, Fred observed that the boys' uniforms were looking noticeably more tattered and threadbare than they had last August. While Professor Hill's bandleader uniform of white pants with a red stripe up the sides, red jacket trimmed with gold buttons and ribbon, and ivory feathered cap was as grand and gaudy as ever, it was also a lot more worn and faded than it had been six months earlier.

However, the grandeur of the boys' band itself had not dimmed one iota. In fact, their performance was vastly improved. Though they opened with their usual – and to the reporter's mind, tiresome – anthem, _Seventy Six Trombones_, their glide step was flawless. The musical virtuoso winning out over the cynical reporter, Fred couldn't help giving the bandleader a genuine grin as he passed by. _Professor Hill certainly drilled them well these past six months_, he reflected approvingly.

Once the parade reached the entrance to the Center Street rotary, Professor Hill brought everyone to a halt. This maneuver was also timed perfectly; the band had just come to the final bars of _Seventy Six Trombones_ when the music professor turned, raised his arms and motioned for silence. Fred caught sight of those silly, silver trumpet cufflinks glinting in the afternoon sunlight, but like the rest of the crowd, he was so tense with excitement that he forgot to be irritated by their presence.

After a brief pause, Professor Hill began to conduct. The horn section of the band started up again, not boisterously, but softly. Because from the direction of Madison Public Library, there came female voices raised in song:

_Never saw you dress quite so handsome – what's more  
I could hardly wait to keep our date  
This lovely Easter morning  
And my heart beat fast as I came through the door  
For…_

Enchanted, Fred and the River City-ziens collectively turned to see Miss Marian and the baton girls, who acknowledged the riveted crowd with sweet smiles before crooning to the boys:

_In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it  
You'll be the grandest fella in the Easter parade.  
I'll be all in clover, and when they look us over  
We'll be the proudest couple in the Easter parade.  
Oh, I could write a sonnet, about your Easter bonnet  
And of the boy I'm taking to the Easter Parade!_

Once they had finished their piece, Harold and the boys who were not playing instruments serenaded back:

_Oh, I could write a sonnet  
About your Easter bonnet  
And of the girl I'm taking to the Easter Parade!_

The kids sang with just as much unabashed gusto as they played their instruments, although it was clear to Fred that the children's overall sense of pitch was rather shaky, and if it weren't for the strong and steady voices of Harold and Marian Hill, the chorus would have gone hopelessly off track. Additional fine-tuning of this aspect of the program would definitely be required for future performances.

At least, that was the reporter's verdict. Everyone else apparently thought this musical exchange was the most marvelous thing they had ever heard; the crowd cheered so loudly and enthusiastically that Professor Hill had to motion for the horn section to pause in its playing until the applause finally ceased. So even though incorporating singing at this still-early juncture had been a risky gambit, it was one that paid off extremely well. After all, few River City-ziens possessed the discerning ear of the classically trained musician, and they probably still would have eaten this presentation right up even if the kids had sounded absolutely terrible.

Once everyone had settled down again, the entire boys' band launched into a brassier instrumental of _Easter Parade_. With beaming smiles, Miss Marian and her phalanx of baton girls marched demurely forward. Like the boys' glide step earlier, their formation was also flawless, and the ladies made a lovely sight as they glided down the street in their matching band uniforms. As ever, the librarian was the loveliest of them all; she was wearing a fitted, ivory bandleader's jacket with a matching skirt that flared out at the knee and swished becomingly around her calves as she strolled along. Her buttons and epaulets were gold, and the collar, cuffs of her sleeves and hem of her gown were trimmed with gold ribbon. As a finishing touch, an ivory feathered cap identical to her husband's was perched becomingly on her honey-blonde curls. Miss Marian looked every inch the music professor's wife and parade partner, and it was certainly not lost on Fred the sweet, significant looks those two were giving each other as she and the girls drew nearer.

Just as entranced by the display as anyone else in town, the reporter both marveled and despaired at the change in the librarian's ensemble and demeanor. Last August, Miss Marian had worn a frilly pink-and-white organdy with a deliciously low neckline, and she hastened to join Professor Hill at the head of the parade like a teenage girl heedlessly running to meet her lover. The sight was charming to witness and had made Fred smile along with everybody else, but the impulsive and slapdash air of this display spoke volumes about the tenuousness of both their new courtship and burgeoning musical venture. Today, it was clear the librarian was much more firmly ensconced in her position. Though her sleek chignon framed her face as elegantly as ever, no banana curls bounced loosely around her shoulders as she marched forward. And though her tailored jacket and fitted skirt nicely emphasized the roundness of her curves, her gown went down to her ankles, her jacket sleeves ended at her wrists and her high collar completely covered her neck. But most tellingly, Miss Marian walked with the poise and pride of a woman who was absolutely certain of her place in the world. She had been seamlessly integrated into Professor Hill's marvelous machinations.

When the baton girls and the boys' band merged into unified formation and the librarian took her husband's outstretched arm, Fred's admiration was once again engulfed by the acute sense of resentment that had plagued him earlier that morning in the emporium. And this time, it was compounded by a bitter sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. As he witnessed the handsome and well-matched pair leading their band onward to Madison Picnic Park – the boys were once again playing _Seventy Six Trombones_, while the girls spun their batons in a jaunty manner – the reporter realized that the angle he'd been planning to exploit for his new story had long since disappeared.

By the time the parade had reached the pavilion and concluded with a final flourish, Fred was once again scowling openly as he considered the situation. Now that the music professor and librarian had gotten their personal affairs settled and come to a solid understanding, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. Although Fred was more than willing to throw a monkey wrench into such devices in the name of pursuing the truth, he was unable to find any weak point he could penetrate. It was downright sickening, the easy rhythm the two of them had together, the way the music professor was always keenly aware of the librarian's presence even when he wasn't looking at her, the way the librarian subconsciously moved in concert with the music professor even when she wasn't looking at him. Marian Paroo now belonged wholly and irrevocably to Harold Hill; she was his in both body and soul.

However, something still didn't quite add up, and so the wheels kept turning in Fred's mind. He had Miss Marian figured out, but what of Harold Hill? On the surface, he was a legitimate and respected bandleader, and a faithful and devoted husband to boot. And, if the reporter's suspicions about Miss Marian's condition were indeed correct, the man was going to be a father, as well. Whatever his past occupation, Professor Hill was now the most upright pillar of a community anyone could ever hope to meet. Still, his relationship with the librarian was sure to be a source of endless curiosity, amusement and, Fred wryly surmised, even envy.

But when the reporter asked around, under the guise of making idle conversation, the gossipy hens confirmed without a shred of malice that Harold and Marian Hill were very much in love. After this latest defeat, Fred's scowl returned and his initial inclination was to conclude that his entire endeavor was fruitless. There was no story here. It was a wasted trip, and the reporter would not be reimbursed for his travel costs. He should never have bothered to pursue this rigmarole!

But there was one angle the reporter still hadn't considered: How long could Harold Hill's remarkable reformation truly last? Everything may have been roses and moonlight between the music professor and librarian at present, but what would their marriage look like next year? After all, they'd have to contend with the addition of a mewling infant, which was sure to take a lot of the bloom and sparkle out of their current, carefree little romance. As soon as children entered the picture, not many husbands retained the ability to be so tirelessly devoted to their wives – especially not former fly-by-night salesmen with the touch of the womanizer about them! Men like Harold Hill couldn't change _that_ completely, and the stress of fatherhood might just prove to be his undoing. And even if his new leaf remained permanently turned over, it was still too early in their relationship for him to feel completely comfortable in his new existence. There had to some lingering struggle and difficulty as the newly minted music professor adjusted to the onerous and lofty demands of being a husband, father-to-be and pillar of the community.

So Fred decided to do a little more poking around to see if he could stir up any nasty hornets' nests lurking beneath those beautifully painted shutters. If he got stung in the process, so be it – it was all for a good cause.

But first things first – it was time to get himself something to eat. The River City Events Committee had prepared a marvelous _al fresco_ Easter dinner, complete with roasted ham and all the trimmings. Not being much of a chef, the reporter relished any opportunity he got to partake of a hearty, home-cooked meal and, not wanting to miss out on this delectable treat, he was one of the first in line for the food brought out after the parade's conclusion. Once he'd assembled a generous plate for himself, Fred then turned his attention to locating his quarry.

Unsurprisingly, the music professor and librarian had ensconced themselves in a nook of trees a little ways away from the crowds. However, unlike the last time the reporter insinuated himself into their little love nest, they greeted him with pleasant smiles that genuinely reached their eyes. _Good_, Fred thought triumphantly. It was so much easier to get beneath people's skin when they were at ease.

As ever, the reporter noted the details of his surroundings that others might find inconsequential. The librarian's plate, while full, conspicuously lacked any ham. And although the music professor had not foregone this dish entirely, his plate was much lighter on meat than one would expect of a man of his prodigious energy and appetites. Surmising that Professor Hill's forbearance of the rather pungent roast stemmed from a desire to ensure his wife's comfort, Fred couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt when Miss Marian's nose wrinkled and discomfort entered her gaze as he set down his heaping plate of ham and took a seat next to her. But he quickly stifled this unwarranted and inconvenient emotion – this was no time to get soft!

"Not having any ham, Mrs. Hill?" he asked innocently as he dug into his lunch, which was just as delicious as the tantalizing aromas floating through the air had promised.

Professor Hill's grin froze, and he shot the reporter an annoyed, appraising look. But Miss Marian simply laughed and shrugged, even as she continued to grimace at the odor of Fred's meal. "I was never very fond of that particular meat."

Now it was Fred who wore an appraising expression. Ignoring the impulse to hastily scarf down his ham and thus remove the offensive aroma from the librarian's presence, he slowly nursed his meal and considered his next move. Miss Marian's offhand response to his inquiry was too nonchalant – too _innocent_ – for it to be anything but sincere. Was it possible that she didn't yet suspect her condition? That would certainly explain the unusual glimmer of apprehension in the music professor's eyes!

Gratified that he was finally making some inroads into disturbing Professor Hill's equanimity, Fred swallowed his mouthful of food and pressed onward. "Once again, the River City boys' band has put on a wonderful show. In fact, I'd say you've positively outdone yourselves! I imagine you and the boys must spend a good deal of time rehearsing?"

Professor Hill shrugged, though from the pleased glimmer in his eyes, he was clearly reveling in this admittedly deserved praise for a job well done. "The boys attend rehearsals twice a week. It's the planning of the concerts that takes up the majority of my time." He gave his wife a fond smile. "That's why Marian's involvement remains crucial to the emporium's success – I'd be lost without her unparalleled organizational skills and attention to detail."

"Indeed," Fred concurred. He turned to the librarian. "I imagine you must have quite the full calendar, especially now that you're married and have a house and husband to look after! In addition to working at the emporium and the library, Mrs. Shinn was telling me you also serve as secretary for the Events Committee."

"That's right," Miss Marian confirmed, her expression still pleasant and unsuspecting.

"My wife thrives on keeping busy," the music professor interjected, but with a laugh that sounded awfully forced.

Fred nodded, though he kept his eyes trained on the librarian as he sliced into his ham, once again releasing the savory scent into the air around them. "I'm sure that the _Register and Leader's_ female readers – especially those who are married – would love to know how you manage to keep up such a demanding schedule outside the home, Mrs. Hill."

Miss Marian squirmed a little at that – though the reporter couldn't definitively determine whether her sudden discomfort was brought on by the ham or his question. "As my husband said, organization and attention to detail is crucial. It also helps that Zaneeta Shinn works at the library three afternoons a week, so I can assist Harold at the emporium. My Events Committee duties are not as onerous as they may sound; they mainly involve taking the minutes at meetings, which are held bi-weekly."

"So would you say that the library takes up the majority of your time, much as it did before you were married?" Fred asked, careful to keep his tone light in order to soften the frank and probing nature of his inquiries.

Miss Marian and her husband exchanged a small smile, even as the music professor continued to eye the reporter warily. "That's probably a fair assessment," she agreed. "Upon my marriage, I did have to relinquish a few of my previous occupations, such as giving piano lessons. But my mother has been doing that in my stead, and she enjoys it very much."

"That's right – you also have your mother and younger brother to look after!" Fred exclaimed, pretending to have forgotten about that. But little did they know the conversation was going exactly the way he wanted. Gazing at the librarian with sympathetic eyes, he delicately observed, "I would imagine your library work remains crucial to providing for them, at least until Winthrop reaches the age of majority and can embark on a career of his own."

A flicker of anguish entered Miss Marian's gaze – just as he'd planned, the reporter had successfully struck a chord. For even though the librarian was no longer a spinster pariah, it wasn't likely she would ever completely forget the challenges of her previous life and what it felt like to be alone in the world, having no one to rely on but herself to keep the roof over her family's head. "My work at the library _is_ crucial," she agreed in a quiet voice. "But for more reasons than economic security alone."

"Of course," Fred said gallantly. "A woman of your intelligence and industry would languish if she were confined solely to the domestic sphere. If you don't mind my saying, it's my personal opinion that there's no shame in a woman having to work outside the home to provide for her family – whether it be parents, siblings… or even her own children."

Her eyes still glistening, Miss Marian gave the reporter a shaky but appreciative smile. But Professor Hill must've cottoned on to his game plan, because the man was now looking daggers at him. Fred's smile only broadened; he had found the hornets beneath the shutters at last. Harold Hill, being a man of prodigious ego, could never stand being shunted to one side in any conversation – especially when he was forced to endure subtle but pointed insinuations that his own wife _had_ to work. For no matter how noble the reasons, Miss Marian's continued employment must have chafed the bandleader's pride, not only in his own masculinity, but in his newfound ability to earn a legitimate and sustainable living. The reporter knew he only had the opportunity to get one more question in before things turned ugly, so he'd better make it a good one. Fortunately, one more question was all he needed.

But he never got to ask it. Rising swiftly to her feet, Miss Marian said, "Would you gentlemen please excuse me? I need to stretch my legs."

"Of course," the two men answered in unison. Feeling the heat of Harold Hill's glare upon him, Fred smirked quietly to himself. Although he would have liked to continue the conversation for just a little while longer, the reporter was more than happy to let her leave. Miss Marian had served her purpose beautifully; Professor Hill had finally dropped the "devoted husband" shtick and wasn't even looking at his wife anymore. Once the librarian was out of earshot, the music professor was going to lay into him. Everything would come tumbling out then. And if, in the midst of his petulant malice, Harold Hill still didn't say anything worth writing about, the reporter would at least have the satisfaction of seeing the bombastic showman cause a scene that tarnished his "Mr. Wonderful" image in front of all the people who revered him as a role model for their sons.

However, Fred's designs were once again thwarted by the capriciousness of the fates. After taking only two steps forward, Miss Marian began to swoon. Horrified that his mealtime shenanigans might have caused real harm to her health, the reporter tossed aside his plate of ham and scrambled to stand so he could assist the librarian. But as ever, Professor Hill was quicker, leaping to his feet and catching his wife in his arms before Fred had even managed to straighten fully upright.

Yet even as the reporter ruefully eyed the scene before him, a cynical part of him wondered if the librarian's faint was merely a feint, something to redirect her husband's attention and defuse his anger. However, Miss Marian looked too miserably queasy for Fred to conclude that her malaise was anything but genuine; he knew quite well from past experience that the librarian was not _that_ good of an actress, especially not after he'd prodded her into a moment of raw honesty. And even if this was just a brilliant performance on her part, she'd provoked something in Harold Hill that Fred had never seen before.

"Marian," Harold Hill said in a low, pleading voice, his gaze desperately riveted to her wan complexion and squeezed-shut eyes. He stroked her cheek. "Marian, please wake up… "

Fred's heart tightened at the way the music professor's voice trembled as he continued to murmur his wife's name, the way the alarm in his expression steadily increased as her eyes remained firmly closed. The reporter had witnessed such heart-wrenching scenes countless times before, in men facing disaster and the loss of everything they held dear. The music professor had indeed forgotten his anger, forgotten the reporter's presence. But he had also forgotten himself. Before, Harold Hill's gestures toward the librarian, while tender, were of a broad and expansive nature, meant to demonstrate to onlookers that this was _his _wife and to reinforce the fact that out of all the men in the world who'd ever pursued her, she had chosen him. But now, he was a man quietly and heedlessly undone. Marian Paroo Hill was not simply a prop to boost his ego or a trophy to be displayed. She truly was his whole world.

"Marian," Harold tried again, his voice cracking even more. "Marian, _please_… " He shook her very gently.

The librarian let out a nauseated groan and clung even tighter to her husband. "Don't!" she gasped. "I'm terribly dizzy… "

Looking both relieved and abashed, the music professor stopped jostling her. Instead, he pulled her into a warm hug and held her securely against him. A few more tense moments passed before the librarian finally relaxed in his arms and let out a soft sigh.

"What do you need, darling?" the music professor asked sweetly, looking like a man renewed. "Is there anything I can do or get for you?"

"Water," she said weakly. And then, as if remembering her manners, she quickly added, "If you please."

"I'll get it," Fred said immediately.

Professor Hill started – apparently, he really had forgotten the reporter was there! For once, Fred regretted announcing his presence; although he'd made this offer out of a genuine desire to help, he expected Professor Hill to put up a fuss and make a big show of getting the water himself. Not that he could have blamed the man for his overprotectiveness, as much as he would have liked to; Fred knew he hadn't exactly been a model of gentility or trustworthiness that afternoon. But more scenes were not what the librarian needed right now.

However, to Fred's surprise, the beleaguered music professor simply nodded and thanked him for his assistance, before helping a still rather pallid Miss Marian back to her seat on the blanket.

So Fred hastened to fetch the librarian a glass of water. And for good measure, he also cleared his dinner plate, making sure that the remaining ham was disposed of far away from Miss Marian's sensitive nose. When he returned with the water, Professor Hill was seated closer to his wife than perhaps was proper even under these unusual circumstances, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist – a provocative sight which normally would have made Fred's blood boil. But the only emotion the reporter felt was relief, because during his brief absence, Miss Marian had gotten her color back.

And just in time, too, because Tommy Djilas burst into their shady nook. "Professor," he said with a wide grin, "It's five minutes to three and I've got all the boys set up on the pavilion for the band's final number, just like you wanted."

Professor Hill likewise grinned, but it was a ghost of his usual rictus. "That's great, Tommy. You run along and join them, and I'll be there in a minute."

The teen's smile dimmed as he took in the way the music professor was holding his wife. "Is everything all right?" he asked nervously. "I could stall everyone for awhile, if you need me to… "

"Everything's fine, son," he reassured the youth, and waved him away.

After Tommy left, Professor Hill turned to his wife as she took small, delicate sips of the water Fred had brought to her. "Do you need me to take you home, darling?"

Miss Marian swallowed, lowered her glass and shook her head. "It was only a mild spell of vertigo. I must have stood up too fast."

Still, Professor Hill refused to budge. "Are you sure?"

"I'm _fine_, Harold," she insisted, this time with a smile. "And you've got a band to lead."

Fred glanced at the pavilion through a gap in the foliage. Indeed, the boys' band was assembled and the townspeople were waiting with expectant smiles for their bandleader to appear.

Also eying the waiting River City-ziens, Miss Marian gave her recalcitrant husband a nudge. "Go on, now."

But the music professor still didn't move. And after all that had happened, Fred no longer had it in him to muster up the cynicism required to believe that Professor Hill's hesitation to leave his wife's side was anything but real. Because it was suddenly clear to the reporter that the former flim-flam man hadn't chosen River City, he'd chosen _her_. River City just happened to be part of the deal. As much as Professor Hill relished the attention and adulation of an audience, he was prepared to give it all up for the sake of the woman he loved.

Chastened, Fred spoke up. "I'll look after her for you, Professor Hill."

Professor Hill's gaze immediately jerked upward, and he surveyed the reporter with suspicious eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment before replying, "All right… but if Marian takes ill again, I want you to come and get me, no matter how busy I am."

"You have my word," Fred promised.

Although he still looked somewhat skeptical, the music professor scrambled to his feet, set his shoulders determinedly forward, and hastened to take his place on the pavilion. Surprisingly, he didn't give his wife so much as a backward glance and, when he turned to greet the crowd, that brilliant, devil-may-care grin was once again lighting up his countenance. In a matter of mere seconds, he had transformed from aggrieved husband into bombastic showman. It made Fred's head spin and, though he dared not move any closer to the librarian, he sneaked a sideways glance at her to gauge her reaction to this significant change in his demeanor. Predictably, her attention was fixed wholly on Professor Hill's form. _And_ she was beaming at him!

Feeling an unwelcome resurgence of irritation at this reminder of her devotion to the man, Fred forced himself to pay attention to the performance. Although the boys' band sounded pleasant enough, the piece was nothing special, just a basic instrumental playing beneath the school board as they sang in surprisingly adept four-part harmony:

_Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do,  
I'm half crazy all for the love of you.  
It won't be a stylish marriage –  
I can't afford a carriage  
But you'd look sweet upon the seat  
Of a bicycle built for two._

As the audience _oohed_ and _aahed_ in soft voices, Fred sneered at this mawkish tableau. Professor Hill was really tugging on the heartstrings of these small-town bumpkins with this trite and sentimental song selection; he couldn't be less controversial if he tried! It was almost eerie, how wholesome and jejune the River City Easter Parade had turned out, as if the music professor had foreseen Fred's new story angle all along, and had set about doing his utmost to thwart the reporter's nefarious intentions.

Now thoroughly disenchanted with the day, Fred spent the rest of the performance gazing openly at Miss Marian. She really was a lovely woman, with her sleek blonde tresses and elegant ensemble. Such a shame that he hadn't been the man to meet her first! Because as ever, the librarian only had eyes for Harold Hill, watching her husband with deep affection and admiration.

Feeling that acute kick to his gut again, Fred scowled and turned his attention to the crowd. Although he took care to avoid the sight of the music professor conducting, the man's smooth but ridiculously expansive gesticulations tugged at the edge of his vision, as bothersome as a buzzing gnat that would not leave him alone. What was it that she saw in that scoundrel? And what did he see in her? As a man of the world, Harold Hill had surely met far more gorgeous and enticing women in his travels! There were many young ladies among the River City-ziens alone who were just as pretty, just as charming, just as well-dressed as Miss Marian – even if the librarian did possess an undeniable air of sophistication and erudition the other female townspeople lacked. But just like the librarian, they all stared at Professor Hill with rapt, dreamy-eyed bliss. So much fawning adoration wasn't conducive to keeping a fellow eternally faithful to his wife, especially not a fellow with Professor Hill's massive arrogance. As besotted as the charming showman might be with Miss Marian at present, he had dozens of pretty lasses making cow's eyes at him and perhaps even waiting patiently in the wings; one of them would surely catch his fancy once the novelty of marriage wore off!

Indeed, when _Daisy Bell_ finally concluded, Fred noted with a smirk just how gleefully Harold Hill basked in all that applause and cheering. And he still didn't spare a single look in his ailing wife's direction. Apparently, his earlier concern for her well-being was yet another exaggerated performance put on for the reporter's benefit.

So Fred decided to pose one more question to the librarian, while they were alone together. Continuing to scan the crowd – it was crucial that he keep his countenance detached, and he knew that he could not maintain his mask of nonchalance if he looked directly at her – he casually asked:

"Do you ever wonder, Miss Marian, that with all the adoration he receives from other parties, your husband will eventually stop looking your way?"

Complete silence met his inquiry, and Fred wondered if, at last, he had triumphed in interjecting a little much-needed reality into her romantic reverie – and what that might mean for him. His stomach twisting itself into knots, he slowly turned to face the librarian.

He was crushed to see that Miss Marian did not look at all perturbed. Indeed, she looked like she hadn't even heard his words; she was still serenely surveying the commotion around her husband.

"Mrs. Hill?" Mr. Gallup politely interjected, louder this time. He dared not risk calling her "Miss Marian" again; his voice was already getting dangerously close to shaking.

She started. "Oh – Mr. Gallup, I'm sorry! Did you want something?"

_You_, he thought peevishly. And then, to his horror, he felt his face flush hotly crimson – something that hadn't happened since he'd bashfully but eagerly fumbled his way into a woman's bed for the first time in his life. Fortunately, the lady had found his nervousness charming, and warmed even more to his overtures. But Fred, who'd long since honed his reputation as a genteel and debonair paramour, would always recall his initial clumsiness with chagrin. Desperate to maintain what was left of his dignity, he whirled around to face the pavilion again. People were chattering cheerfully and mothers were hugging their sons, but oddly, the great Professor Hill was nowhere to be seen. Why wasn't he still in the thick of things?

"Mr. Gallup?" Miss Marian's sweet voice intoned from behind him. "Is something the matter?"

At last, Fred had gotten her full attention. With nothing left to lose and potentially everything to gain, he could have gone over, sat right down next to her, and whispered into her ear not just that question, but everything else he'd always wanted to tell her. And if words couldn't make her see Professor Hill's unworthiness, perhaps a kiss would do the job. At the very least, it would show the lovely librarian exactly what she'd missed out on by passing him up in favor of a fly-by-night scoundrel – and just what was waiting for her in Des Moines when her reprobate husband eventually flew the coop.

Fred ought to have said and done all these things last August, when the two of them were alone in the library together. Once again, the early bird had missed his chance – but better he make his move late than never. If only he could be certain of the music professor's whereabouts! Nevertheless, the reporter marshaled his valor and turned to face Miss Marian again, who had, to his shock, risen to her feet, her countenance aglow with concern and curiosity. Fred's heart started to thump crazily in his chest, and for one exhilarating moment, he wondered if he'd underestimated his appeal to the librarian. Had she shrewdly anticipated his advances, after all? Did she _welcome_ them?

But when his yearning eyes finally met those of the woman he'd longed for all these months, the reporter found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. As much as he longed to tell her just how much he wanted and needed her, something deeper and stronger in him wouldn't let him say the words. And then, as if the universe wished to punish Fred for his cowardly hesitation at this crucial moment, Professor Hill came bursting into their little alcove.

"Marian!" he cried out in an exhilarated voice, sweeping her up into his arms. "How were we?" he asked nervously, as if the crowd's exaltation meant absolutely nothing in comparison to the librarian's seal of approval. "But more importantly, how are _you_?"

Miss Marian laughed gleefully and threw her arms around her husband as if he'd been away for hours instead of minutes. "I'm completely recovered. And you and the boys were _wonderful_, Harold."

In response, Professor Hill gave her a fond and ardent look, as if he wanted nothing more than to whisk her off somewhere even more hidden and make love to her as soon as he could possibly arrange it. Not only that, the librarian looked like she was entertaining the exact same notion, her heated gaze silently but unequivocally urging him onward.

"Oh, Marian," the music professor moaned, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was long, joyful and deep.

Although this was clearly his cue to skedaddle, Fred remained too staggered to move. His brain, which usually grasped and summed up situations at a lightning-quick pace, struggled to catch up as it once again dawned on him just how completely and willfully he'd misjudged not only Harold Hill, but Marian Paroo. Not only was the librarian wholly and irrevocably in love, her warm effusiveness never failed to shatter the showman's façade. No matter how much the music professor enjoyed presenting his slick persona to the crowd, he dropped all pretense with her. Fred had been a fool to think that this erstwhile traveling salesman would tire of the woman who'd made his stunning success as a legitimate bandleader possible, and he'd been an even bigger fool to think his paltry words and kisses could ever win the heart of Mrs. Harold Hill.

But the worst part of it all was that the reporter had absolutely no story to write. At least, no story that his editor would accept for publication. So in all likelihood, this trip would cost him money as well as pride.

It was time for him to leave River City.

Turning toward the train station, Fred began the long and tedious march back to his solitary existence in Des Moines. Perhaps he ought to have returned to Charleston after his freshman year of college and married Bess, after all. Life in the big city was starting to lose its luster without anyone to share it with, and even if the occupation of store clerk proved intolerably dreary, at least he would have come home to a woman who happily warmed his bed at night – and remained steadfastly ensconced his arms when he woke up the next morning.

XXX

But as it turned out, Harold Hill wasn't quite finished with him yet. As Fred glumly waited at the empty freight depot for his train to arrive, his solitude was interrupted by the very fellow he would have ranked as the last person he ever wanted to see again in his life.

"Oh, good – you're still here," the music professor gasped as he sped into sight, breathless with relief, as if the reporter was a treasured comrade who almost slipped through his fingers.

Lacking the will or even the patience for his usual courteous demeanor, Fred brusquely inquired, "What do you want, Hill? Come to rub it in even more how completely and totally you've triumphed over your adversary?"

To his shock, the music professor took his open hostility in stride, and merely gave the reporter a perplexed blink. "I came to invite you to the communal supper the Events Committee is hosting at the armory before you left town. Thought it would be a long ride back to Des Moines on an empty stomach."

The reporter's frown deepened. He'd much rather the man threw a punch at him – at least it would be an honest gesture on his part! "The train will have a dining car," he stiffly declined.

The music professor shrugged, still irritatingly nonchalant. "Maybe, but you're not likely to get a meal that's nearly as good. Believe me, I know."

Bewildered by the man's insistence of maintaining an affable façade between the two of them, Fred wondered if a concerned Miss Marian had put her husband up to chasing after him like this. This notion made him even angrier; he wanted no one's pity, least of all _hers_. "Enough, already, with the false overtures of concern for my welfare!" he burst. "We both know that you'd be far happier to see me on the next train out of town, so why did you bother coming here? Why couldn't you have just let me go without a fuss?" Without waiting for a response, he leaped to his feet and took a few belligerent steps forward, scattering dirt all over his just recently-polished shoes as he approached his nonplused nemesis. "But you needn't bother answering, I already know why. You came here because you're a man who has to win in every conceivable way. And until you do, you keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. Even though you've got this whole damn town and its lovely yet formidable librarian happily eating out of the palm of your hand, you can't stand the fact that someone you courted as a valuable ally to your cause, someone whose support you _need_ to expand your fledgling business outside the borders of this hick village, might be lingering out there in the wider world, hating your guts!"

The music professor, who'd listened to this diatribe with narrowed eyes and a cool expression, let out a short laugh. "Is that what you really think?"

"It's not what I think – it's the truth," Fred hotly retorted.

The music professor's countenance turned disappointed. "Oh, Fred," he sighed, shaking his head. "I thought you were a lot smarter than that. That's not why I came after you, at all!"

For a moment, Fred couldn't see straight due to the sheer wave of fury that coursed through his veins. His hands balled into fists, and he seriously contemplated taking a swing at the maddeningly composed man standing before him. If harsh words couldn't goad Harold Hill out of his condescending detachment, maybe decking him would do the trick!

But then, before Fred could take another step forward, his rational side intervened. _This is exactly what he wants! If he can't win you over with food and flattery, he'll break you down until you give him what he's after._

When Fred realized what the music professor had almost succeeded in doing, his fury ebbed so much that he had to repress a laugh. How ridiculous that _he_, who'd been a seasoned reporter for over a decade, had nearly fallen for a ploy he'd used so many times before to ferret the truth out of reluctant interviewees! Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Fred considered his options. He had to regain control of both his emotions and the situation. But before he could do that, he had to determine precisely what notions were currently informing the music professor's undeserved air of authority – as erroneous and distorted as the man's perception of reality may be! Unclenching his fists and smoothing his facial features into a similar mask of nonchalance, the reporter coolly inquired,

"Then why did you come after me, _Professor_ Hill?"

"I'll get to that in a minute," he said smoothly. "But before I do, I've got a question for you. I know my prior occupation isn't what you'd call honorable, but I've earned my place in River City, fair and square. I may deserve censure for the things I've taken from others in the past, but what did I ever take from _you_ that made you hate me so much?" He gave the reporter a sharp glance. "And don't say Marian Paroo, because she was never yours in the first place." He let out a grating laugh. "If anything, you're the one who's tried to take her from me!"

"I've never done anything of the sort!" Fred bristled, once again finding himself inexplicably on the defensive. "The only thing I've ever offered the librarian is a few pleasant gallantries."

"You might not have made any overt advances toward my wife," Professor Hill allowed, regarding him with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, "but I'd wager that you've entertained more than a few thoughts along those lines in that sly, calculating mind of yours."

Deciding it was high time _he_ got an unsettling dig in for a change, Fred brazenly acknowledged the truth. "And if I _have_ thought about taking her away from you?" he challenged. "What are you going to do about it?"

Professor Hill grinned. "The same thing any sane and reasonable man in my position would do: absolutely nothing."

Now it was Fred's turn to give a grating laugh. Of course Harold Hill would do nothing. And what's more, he'd be right to rest on his laurels. For all his animosity, the reporter no longer presented a significant threat to the music professor's love life, and they both knew it.

"Then why are you here?" Fred asked with a scowl.

Professor Hill's eyes narrowed. "I'm here because I wanted to make something clear to you. I don't care if you despise me; I'm not trying to be your friend or to 'win you over to my cause,' as you persist in thinking. I don't even care if you make cow's eyes at my wife. What I refuse to put up with is your jealous prying into her private affairs regarding sensitive matters that we have yet to discuss even between ourselves."

Fred's eyes widened in shock. Yet it wasn't the information itself that surprised him, it was Harold Hill's willingness to speak so frankly about the matter.

"Yes, my wife is, in all likelihood, expecting," the music professor confirmed. "But I'm waiting for her to come to me with the news. It's still rather early days – too early for a woman as innocent as her to suspect her condition." Now it was his turn to take a few menacing steps forward. "I'm not about to sit idly by and wait for my sweet wife to find out about her own pregnancy at the same time as the rest of Iowa does – thanks to a slyly dropped hint about 'Madame Curie's' condition in an article in one of the state's biggest newspapers. So you better consider your words real carefully when preparing your story for publication, _Mister_ Gallup. Go ahead and feel free to badmouth me to your heart's content; take a cheap potshot at the celebrated bandleader whose wife must work outside the home to help support their household, or whatever insult you think would hurt my pride the most." Looking graver and more resolute than Fred had ever seen him, Harold Hill took another step forward and jabbed a finger into the reporter's chest. "But if you write _anything_ that hurts or embarrasses Marian, I will personally make sure that you regret whatever poison your pen spews."

Fred coolly raised an eyebrow. Although he had no such story to write, it was about time the balance of power started tipping in his direction! "Is that a threat, Professor Hill?" he asked idly. "I don't take kindly to those… and they've never stopped me before." His scowl deepened and he said, this time with real conviction, "Any reporter who'd go back on his principles merely because a little personal risk is involved isn't worthy of the profession."

Professor Hill glared at him with those uncomfortably penetrating eyes of his. "And what principles would those be, exactly? Embarrassing a decent, modest and gracious lady whose only transgression was to spurn your advances? Damaging the reputation of a man who's merely trying to earn enough of a living to support his growing family – and doing this out of jealousy and spite that a woman who caught your fancy chose him instead of you?"

Fred, who was used to all manner of attempted denigration of his character from defensive interviewees shrinking from reality's harsh glare – like cockroaches scrambling out of a bright light aimed at them – would normally have given out just as good as he got. But somehow, he could find absolutely nothing to say. The plain truth of the matter was that no matter how fickle Harold Hill's heart might prove to be in the future, the man had given up a great deal to be with Marian Paroo _now_. Fred hadn't been willing to give up so much as the cost of a train ticket; he wouldn't have even come to River City if the paper wasn't going to reimburse him his travel costs. So which man would an objective observer say was more deserving of the librarian's love? The music professor with the checkered past who'd sacrificed everything to be with her, or the reporter who merely showed up to town on assignment and expected a loyal companion to fall into his arms simply as a reward for having kept on the straight and narrow path all his life?

Fred's stomach began to churn uncomfortably as he contemplated these thoughts, and his expression must have revealed his discomfort, because suddenly, Harold Hill's hand was on his shoulder and he was regarding the reporter with sympathetic concern. "When I first met you last August, you _were_ a man of great principle and conscience, Fred. But over the past several months, you've become a bitter shell of that man." He sighed. "I won't ask what happened to change you, because we both know the answer to that. We both know what it's like to want something we can't have, to hungrily eye another man's heaping plate of goods. But unlike you, I've spent a good deal of my life taking as much as I could from those plates and sating my appetites at others' expense and, despite what you might surmise, it's not something I'm proud of. I certainly wouldn't recommend going down that road – it'll just leave you even more starved in the end."

The music professor's gloating might have been annoying, but his pity was unbearable. Removing the man's hand from his shoulder, Fred coldly opined, "If you're so filled with regret over your past behavior, you ought to hop a train to Brighton, Illinois and turn yourself in to the law. You should be atoning for your thievery in a jail cell – it's an affront to justice that a two-bit swindler like you should become a successful bandleader enjoying a comfortable existence with a loyal and loving wife!"

Although a flicker of annoyance crossed Professor Hill's face at the reporter's remark, his voice was level as he replied, "As I said before, whatever I might have done in the past, I earned my place in River City and by Marian's side fair and square. You might not like that things worked out so well for me, but let me assure you, all men pay the price for their actions in one way or another, and even though I managed to avoid prison, I certainly didn't escape from my former livelihood unscathed. Fortunately, Providence is far more merciful than man, and when I was given this golden opportunity to reform, you better believe I took it!" He sighed again. "You can preach at me about high-flying notions of justice all you want, but what good would giving myself up to be jailed do for my wife? Marian is going to be a mother, and if you care anything at all for her, you won't make it harder for _her_ to survive by taking her husband away from her at such a crucial time! You once told Marian that even a journalist could understand there were times when the greater good trumped the cold, hard facts. So while you might be justified in despising me out of principle alone, are you really so hard-hearted as to destroy a burgeoning family? And not just a family, but a town that depends on its beloved boys' band?"

_Not much fun being on the other end of the interrogation, is it?_ Fred's mind wryly observed. Although the reporter could no longer deny how greatly his own petty vindictiveness had colored his view of the situation, he wasn't about to admit his mistakes openly to this man, who as correct as he may be in his assessments, was still untrustworthy on the whole. So he seized on the one point he could still argue, albeit feebly: "River City survived just fine without you before, and they could survive without you again," he said with more derisiveness than he actually felt. "You are not the town itself!"

"No, I'm certainly not," Professor Hill agreed. "But I'm sure you could guess what River City was like before, without music. Would you take that music away, merely out of spite? As a music man yourself, Fred, could you really do that?"

Now thoroughly beaten, Fred let out a long sigh, and his shoulders slumped. He couldn't do such a thing, not even out of spite. He'd seen towns without music – prim, dull, cheerless places.

Giving the reporter's shoulder a grateful pat, Harold pulled a sandwich out of his pocket. "I figured you wouldn't come to supper, so I brought this to give to you for the ride back."

Fred took the sandwich without protest. "Thank you," he said in a quiet voice.

The two men stood in awkward silence for a few moments, until the reporter finally decided that if he wanted to make any headway in achieving his former grasp of principle, he may as well start by giving the music professor his due. Lifting his head to meet Professor Hill's gaze, he sheepishly confessed, "I couldn't damage your reputation with my pen even if I wanted to. My boss doesn't want another bucolic paean to a marvelous boys' band in small-town Iowa, but I found absolutely no other story I can possibly tell. So I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for any news articles to come out about River City, complimentary or otherwise."

Looking neither surprised nor chagrined, Harold nodded. "Well… in that case, I'm sorry we've wasted your time."

Fred smiled wanly. "You win some, you lose some," he said with a shrug. "Please give my regards to your wife," he added as his train pulled in. "And when it becomes appropriate, my congratulations."

"Will do," Harold promised, giving his hand a hearty shake. And so the reporter and the music professor parted, no longer enemies… but not quite friends, either. Just like the last time he'd left River City.

Fred sighed, and then chuckled. Apparently, he was doomed to a life of repetition – losing Bess, futilely pining for Marian Paroo, being thoroughly yet deservedly trounced by a scoundrel of a man he still couldn't help liking, riding trains through stark landscapes as he pursued his lonely and increasingly thankless profession. What good was rooting out the unvarnished truth if revealing it would only hurt innocent people and rob the world of a brilliant and highly accessible new way to learn music?

Unwrapping his sandwich and gazing at the endless cornfields as they flashed by in the fading daylight, Fred started humming softly to himself. _Seventy six trombones led the big parade…_

XXX

Once the train to Des Moines had pulled out of the River City freight depot and disappeared into the horizon, Harold finally let the friendly grin slide off his face. He and Marian had really dodged a bullet; as his grumbling guts had surmised, Fred Gallup was aiming to do some real damage this time around. Normally, Harold would have relished the sheer and dizzying thrill of achieving victory after risking everything, but now that he had a wife, a family and a town that depended on his success, he'd grown surprisingly apprehensive about such close shaves. Yet the music professor had to take the chance of laying both his reputation and his business on the line, because if the emporium's curriculum never had the opportunity to catch on anywhere else besides small-town Iowa, his marvelous Think System would, in all likelihood, die right along with him.

However, if Harold had known just how twisted by bitterness the reporter had become over the past six months, he never would've invited him back to River City a second time. Although he was much more secure in both his beloved's devotion and his boys' abilities, he sensed that real trouble was brewing when Fred Gallup accepted his invitation; there was a reason talking to, kissing, caressing and even making love to Marian couldn't vanquish the small but stubborn knot of nervousness persisting in the pit of his stomach as the Easter festivities approached. Indeed, soon after the reporter's arrival to town, it became unnervingly clear to Harold that the main reason the man had come back was because he did indeed have a score to settle. So even though the former conman knew he'd once again triumphed in demonstrating his legitimacy as a bandleader when his boys concluded their final performance at Madison Park Pavilion, some little bird had whispered into his ear (_the early bird, perhaps?_ Harold wryly recalled Fred Gallup's favorite maxim) that he'd better curtail his passionate celebrations with his wife for the time being so he could skedaddle to the freight depot and do a little "un-twisting" of Fred Gallup's bruised ego before it was too late.

It was yet another tremendous risk on his part, stirring up the muck in a beleaguered man's soul, but to Harold's mind, it was a risk well worth taking. Because for all the music professor's bravado, he knew Fred Gallup could easily have found another way to hurt him, even if he lacked enough factual material to compose a damning story. Trusting that deep down, the reporter was still a man of principle – and what's more, truly cared about Marian – the music professor appealed to his sense of compassion by confessing suspicions about the librarian's condition that he hadn't even aired to Marcellus Washburn, the one man he would have trusted with his life.

Admittedly, he could be mistaken in this supposition, as pregnancy was an entirely new arena for the former fly-by-night salesman, despite his knowledge of the world. As such, he hadn't yet dared to raise the possibility even to Marian. He'd falsely gotten his hopes up once before: In December, his wife hadn't gotten her courses at all, and Harold had tentatively started to fathom impending fatherhood until he was definitively proven wrong sometime in the middle of January. However, that was the last month the librarian had experienced such affliction; it was now nearing the end of March, and their nighttime canoodling still had yet to be interrupted by her cycle. And the fact that Marian had gotten sick to her stomach while preparing the mutton for the Irish stew last week only clinched it for Harold. So while it might have been an extremely foolhardy move for the music professor to reveal such delicate assumptions to a man who'd sooner see him ruined or even imprisoned rather than wish him felicitations for his good fortune, he decided to play that card – which, in truth, was the only worthwhile card he held.

Fortunately, Harold's instincts had once again steered him to safety; this game-changing news ultimately succeeded in piercing the fog of bitterness surrounding the reporter, and the two men ended up parting on the best terms possible. Admittedly, things still weren't peaches and cream between the music professor and the reporter and, in all likelihood, never would be, but at least Harold could return to his dear little librarian's arms with the confidence that he'd once again managed to overcome an ominous obstacle in the course of his building a life with her.

Yet even in the midst of his relief, the music professor felt a strange sense of wistfulness; a lack of fulfillment, as if there was an opportunity he'd once again missed out on. As uneasy and infuriated as Fred Gallup had made him, Harold was not a man who had it in him to downright hate another person and, given that they both had a deep love of music in common, he considered it a real shame the two of them couldn't manage to form a pleasant, intellectually stimulating and mutually beneficial acquaintance. Perhaps someday, when Fred found the happiness he was looking for, he might be receptive to renewed overtures of friendship…

But in the meantime, Harold had done all he could do at present. Now he had a wife to get home to, a business to oversee, and perhaps fatherhood to anticipate. So Fred Gallup once again slipped safely to the back of the music professor's mind as he returned to his full and rewarding life in River City.


End file.
